


blink blink, you turn me on and off

by boybinary



Category: A.C.E (Beat Interactive Band), ONF (Band), 믹스나인 | MIXNINE (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, i wrote this all at 3 am #noregrets, i........... tried?, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 07:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13289700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boybinary/pseuds/boybinary
Summary: 5 times donghun and hyojin share a bed without getting caught. plus the one time they do.





	blink blink, you turn me on and off

**Author's Note:**

> for @teodoraherman on tumblr!  
> thanks for the request!
> 
> title from on/off by onf

**one**  
  
First night of the new mission— there’s a tense feeling in the air. Donghun can feel it as they sit in their practice room, faces reflected back at them in the mirror, and there’s none of the— the excitement that should come with a group that’s doing Bang Bang Bang. _BIGBANG’s_ Bang Bang Bang, of all things.

People cluster in groups with their friends, chatting animatedly as they set up the dorm, and the others, without a place to fit in, stand to the side. It’s not like— a team, a unit, one body moving together. It’s not what they’re supposed to be. It’s difficult to stop from frowning, when he sees the— the rapper, was it?—Im Youngjun sitting by himself, off to the side. He’s thinking of heading over when Hyojin sidles up to him, saying something about _let’s set up next to each other, hyung_ , but Youngjun turns away the moment he takes a step in the HIGH4 member’s direction, so he lets Hyojin pull him away, his grip slightly painful.

“Stop thinking about it,” Hyojin grits out when Donghun accidentally feeds his hoodie a forkful of bibimbap. “Don’t think about it anymore, hyung.” _You can’t do anything about it now_ , is what he means. But the rest of dinner _it_ is all Donghun thinks about and at the end there is still ¾ of the rice left in his takeout container.

And— and when the lights are off and everyone else is sleeping, he is still thinking about _it_ and how Youngjun had shied away, almost run from him, and when he closes his eyes there is the big stage and they are messy, they are not coordinated, they are not moving as one unit they are not prepared and everything falls to _pieces_ —

“Hush,” Hyojin murmurs against his nape, and thin, toned arms pin his to his sides. And then Donghun— Donghun not thinking about how their team is fragmented, shattered like broken glass. He is is thinking about the way Hyojin’s arm is soft beneath his neck and Hyojin smells like— like fresh cotton, like unscented shampoo, like the spicy spearmint gum that burns at the back of his throat, at the backs of his eyes. He is thinking about the heat of Hyojin’s earrings, pressed up against the back of his neck. He is thinking to the beat of Hyojin’s heart, the hum of Hyojin’s breaths, and—

And finally, when he begins to drift off, he is thinking about Hyojin’s voice when he whispers “good night, hyung.”

 

**two**

Practice ends at 12 am. Tame, considering they’re being evaluated tomorrow— today, now.

Donghun settles into bed, phone in his palm, waiting for Hangyeom— and Hyojin, of course. The wifi is lossy, cutting out every few minutes, so he passes the time by looking through old selcas and deleting some. Some being most, except for the ones he likes. The minutes tick by slowly. Where are they?

> _Hyojin_  
> _When are you and Hangyeom-ah getting back?_  
> _Should I wait up?_

 _nono, don’t stay up! hyung should get his sleep_ <  
_:)_ <

There’s no response to the first or second questions and he frowns a little but. Donghun stays up anyway, switching apps to KKT, then back to Photos.

It’s nearing 1 am when the door to their dorm room finally cracks open, Hyojin and Hangyeom slipping in through silently to prevent waking Donghun. It’s nearing 1 am when Donghun hears the jangle of keys when Hangyeom hangs them up, the _sshk sshk sshk_ when they toe off their shoes, too tired to say anything. It’s nearing 1 am and Donghun squeezes his eyes shut, clicking the button on his phone that makes his screen go dark.

It’s 12:51 in the morning.

Hangyeom’s soft snores come almost as soon as the youngest curls up on the bed, and Donghun can imagine— they’re clean, skin damp from the cleanser, clothed in something other than their practice clothes _finally_. But not even cleanser can smudge away the darkness beneath their eyes, the circles of shadow that make them look ages older, make them look like thirty years.

Donghun lets his eyes open a slit and Hyojin is sitting on the bed, cross-legged, the formations a crumpled paper at his feet. He’s got— his phone on, flashlight on, though it’s dangling loosely from his fingers like he’s too tired to hold it up. Donghun would be surprised if that were such the case— they’ve been practicing so much, driving driving driving. Even if it wasn’t their bodies they were punishing.

He watches Hyojin through hooded eyes; long, fluttering eyelashes. A fresh sheet of paper. It’s 1:00, he thinks. The hands cut a perfect quarter of the clock, like a pie. The tip of the pen bleeds a dot in the paper, through the paper, and even before there’s anything written on it, it’s ripped into strips, piled neatly on the table. Another, another, another. The minutes tick by and as the sky lightens it’s like the darkness slips into the bags beneath Hyojin’s eyes.

It is 2 am.

Hyojin sets the pad of paper down, then the pen. Donghun’s vision is blurring from lack of sleep. They’ve got— two hours, if they’re lucky. Get up at six, eat breakfast, practice some more. The dancers— the Kwon brothers, they’re coming today. Donghun guesses they’ll be getting up at five, skip breakfast, practice some more. Practice-holics Bang Bang Bang team, they’d planning on captioning the shots. That’s the clearest truth they’d get, anyway.

It is 2 am so when Hyojin slips beneath Donghun’s blankets, breaths warming a spot on his back, Donghun doesn’t complain, just closing his eyes in hopes of getting a little bit of sleep.

 

**three**

“Really, hyung, it’s no big deal—” Hyojin is saying, whispering, fingers clenched at the bridge of his nose, other palm cupped beneath. “It’s just a nosebleed.” It’s dark in the room. The corners of his eyes ache from endless hours of staring, wide-eyed at scraps of paper. Another drop of blood drips into his palm, and he all but lunges for the tissue box on the side table.

It’s like he’d blinked, from 2 am. It’s 5 am now, five twenty-three, seven minutes til someone barges into each room to wake everyone up. He gathers the scraps of paper from the side table, almost— humiliated, at the way Donghun-hyung purses his lips, at the way his fingers smudge blood over frustrated ink blots. The tissue soaks through quickly, one hand pressing it to his face while the other sits under the running tap, clear water tinting pink.

Then Donghun— _someone_ , but who would it be if not Donghun-hyung?—comes up from behind, pressing a fresh tissue to his nose. Instinctively, he tilts his head back, chin raised up to the mirror, but Donghun takes his chin with his other hand and tucks it to his chest. “Wash your hands, they’re bloody,” his hyung murmurs, wiping at a stray splotch of blood with a damp tissue. Hyojin presses his lips together. The water of the tap is growing warmer, less pink.

His hands drip with water as they make their way back into the room— Donghun holding the box of tissues like a treasure, Hyojin clutching his face as the bleeding tapers off.

They’re sitting in bed, laps covered by the blankets, when Hyojin sneezes— and his nose gushes blood again, staining the front of his fresh shirt. Donghun clicks his tongue, pulls out the tissue box and a travel-size hand sanitizer, mopping up the blood all over his face, his lips, dripping thick down his jaw. Hyojin manages a weak smile when Donghun maneuvers his head into his lap, propped up on hyung’s forearm, other hand holding tissues to his nose.

It’s silence for several moments. “You shouldn’t be getting nosebleeds from stress,” Donghun says finally, voice flat. Somewhere on the other side of the room, Hangyeom mumbles something about American pastries. “It’s not healthy.” _The pastries, or the nosebleeds?_ Hyojin thinks, but he doesn’t voice it. It’s 5 am— not a time to be joking. _Keep your jokes to the cameras_ , Donghun would spit.

Bam, bam, b-bam. “Hyungs, it’s time to get up,” comes the sleepy voice. Hyojin clutches the wad of tissue to his face and shifts back into his own bed, goosebumps rising up at the coldness of his blankets— but that’s nothing compared to the churning in his chest, growing especially cold when Donghun wipes the remainder of the smudged blood away with a warm hand-towel.

 

And later in the day, when Hyojin rushes out of the practice room because “help me turn on the music, I’m having a nosebleed,” he misses when Donghun only purses his lips sadly.

 

**four**

Ever since MIX NINE began Donghun’s rarely had the time to sleep— and when he did, he never wanted to exactly. But it’s been a long day, he doesn’t feel like any time has been wasted nor is being wasted as everyone settles in at 11 pm, _good night!_ ’s echoing through the common area.

Hyojin turns. Flips from his left side to his stomach, then back. Twists in the sheets. It’s rustling and Donghun is hyper-aware of the noise, even with his blanket pulled up all the way to his chin. Ssht, ssht, ss-ssht. He’s almost prepared to ask Hyojin to stop moving when Hangyeom lifts his head, eyes almost glowing in the low light. “Hyung, can you stop moving? It’s making lots of noise.” And Donghun can see, he can see how Hyojin bites his lip before replying with “sorry”, but—.

But he does keep moving— just the slight twitches of a limb now. Almost spasm-like. And that worries Donghun somewhat, because it’s irregular, not like a tick or nervous shake. So when Donghun is sure that Hangyeom is asleep, he waits another five minutes, then lifts himself off the pillow and sidles up to Hyojin.

“Are you okay?” he mumbles, folding his knees awkwardly beneath him and carding his fingers through Hyojin’s red hair. “You should sleep, just relax.” They both can hear the unsaid _sleep, so you don’t get more nosebleeds_ — or worse. Hyojin peers up at him through his bangs and the corners of Donghun’s lips quirk into a faint smile. “Don’t worry about me, hyung’s fine.” Again, the unsaid _you’re not_ hangs in the air, though it is much more heavy now.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen. “I think I injured something, hyung,” Hyojin says suddenly, when Donghun thinks he’s finally asleep, when Donghun frees his fingers from the silk-like strands of the vocalist’s hair. His eyes are shut tight, breathing slow. “My— my leg. There’s this ache, ever since this morning.” Ever since morning dance practice. “And a shake— shakey feeling.” His voice quivers.

Donghun goes back to threading his fingers through his hair. “D— don’t… worry,” he manages, quiet. “I’m sure it’ll be better in the morning, it must just be— nerves or something.” And Hyojin hums a little, licking his lips slightly— Donghun can see the shadows of his face, and the pools of ink beneath his eyes.

And he too, must be high on the nerves, because despite not remembering— falling asleep, he awakens just before 6 am, draped in one of Hangyeom’s hoodies, fingers tangled in Hyojin’s hair.

 

**five**

Donghun stays at the practice room late. He— he usually doesn’t, he usually takes the role of mother hen, ushering the rest of King Wang Jjang back to the dorms to _sleep_ , to _use_ the little time they put aside for _rest_. And when “go on, I’m staying a bit longer” grows weary in his mouth, he stares at Minhak until it’s uncomfortable for both of them, waiting for the dancer to leave the room.

The song stutters to a stop. He sits on the floor, staring dolefully at his reflection.

Quite frankly, he looks— horrible. He looks horrible, hair greasy because he hasn’t taken a proper shower, a shower longer than 10 minutes since the assignment of the new mission. He looks horrible, bags beneath his eyes like a trademark amongst MIX NINE contestants. His lips are graying, chapped, tinged white on the edges where the skin has cracked and peeled away.

The speaker hums. Donghun brings himself to his feet, presses the rewind button, and floats through the steps almost in a trance. He knows the choreo like— like he knows the muscles of his thighs, as well as he knows the backs of his hands the sides of his body the curve of his neck. He knows it almost too well, and his body aches when he thinks again. Again, again, again. Over and over.

With a sigh, he turns off the speaker, turns off the lights, watching as they fade out, starting from the back. He can’t get— into the mood, it’s too late at night (too early in the morning) when sleep befuddles your brain, making everything soft and cotton-candy clouds-like. It’s not the time for an energetic song like _Bang Bang Bang_ , which should be played loud loud _loud_ , not quiet because it’s hell in the morning and everyone is trying to sleep.

He knows the dorms almost half as well as he knows the choreography so he manages his way back to the rooms without tripping over anything, catching one of Hiro’s converse high tops when it falls off the high drawer. Weariness settles deep in his bones and he’s worrying about— about the showcase, about the end of MIX NINE, about unrelated things like I hope Byeongkwan and Sehyoon are doing well in their teams, about his parents, about Yuchan and Junhee who are participating in The UNIT— I hope they’re all doing okay.

He tell this to Hyojin’s back, forehead pressed in the space between the vocalist’s shoulder blades. Their beds have been pushed together again, and Hyojin’s lying smack-dab on the gap in the middle, arms curled around himself. His heartbeat is ringing loud, high in his ears and he can’t sleep, worrying worrying worrying about things he usually would never.

 _I hope we do well. I hope we can please the judges._ He’s mumbling nonsense under his breath. _I hope everyone gets a good night’s sleep, even if it’s not even two hours_. He doesn’t know about the other members’ sleeping habits but he has eyes, he can see the dark circles beneath everyone’s eyes. They’re especially dark for Dongyoon and Hiro and— and Hyojin, even though Donghun knows Hyojin’s sleeping habits, Hyojin’s waking habits, Hyojin’s _everything_ , he just doesn’t know— why.

He closes his eyes, eyelashes catching on Hyojin’s shirt. _I just… I just hope everyone is… happy after this. I don’t want anyone to be upset, or for anyone to lose their motivation._

“I’m being so negative,” he chastises himself. “I shouldn’t worry so much, should I?”

 

And in the morning, Hyojin pulls him aside. Tells him “it’s okay to worry a little” and Donghun is tired and just a little bit numb, so he doesn’t— doesn’t protest when the ONF member pulls him into a hug, even if the places he touches simmer like an overheated laptop after he lets go.

 

**plus one**

It’s the last night before the showcase— nerves either hum faster, harder, louder or they’ve settled, a buzz in the pit of their stomachs. They’re all excited, they’ve worked hard, but there’s the voice in the backs of their heads that sing phrases like “ _what if you mess up?_ ”, “ _what if you bring the whole group down?_ ”, “ _you’re going to disappoint someone_ ”, what if this, what if that. Some are louder than others. Some people have learned how to tamp down that pessimistic voice, while others— it spirals, multiplies, bouncing around the caverns of their minds like an echo, over and over and over.

Hyojin’s usually good at— this, muffling that voice, turning it down down down so he can’t hear it anymore, muting it so it’s nothing but a dead silence among the colours of the noise in his head. But today— tonight, it’s harder, like fumbling for a lightswitch in the dark. Flick, flick, flick. He’s shutting off all the wrong lights but he can’t find the one the turns off the noise and the one that turns on the nighttime light of the bedroom.

Flick. The crack beneath the door flares up and Hyojin sighs, pressing the switch. It darkens. He can’t see his hands in front of his face, the blinds shut so everyone can sleep for the one-ish hour they have. His ears ring with the jaundiced words— dripping with cynicism, like black sludge that sticks to his shoulders and knees and wrists.

He can hear— no, he can _feel_ the other members of King-Wang-Jjang in the darkness, weariness hanging over them like a cloud, a— a blanket of doubts, fog like pea-soup. He can hear their breathing, shallow. The headlights of a car—an early-morning worker, no doubt—flash past and for a moment, the room is more blue-grey than black and he can see the highlights of their cheeks, or their noses, in the brief moment.

When he steps forward, tentative, there is a soft give of an arm beneath his socked foot and Hangyeom’s sleepy grumble rises amongst the soft breathing. Hyojin freezes, bringing his feet back to a safe area— god, at this rate the alarm would ring the moment he burrows into bed. Clutching at the hem of his shirt, stripes fraying in his fingers, he toes at an empty spot in the floor before setting his foot down.

The— the exhaustion is beginning to settle into his bones, and he feels loose— the seam falls to mid-thigh as his fingers spasm. His knees are shaking, like the flesh and blood and bones and muscles he’d worked so hard to strengthen all became like the bite-sized jello cups he sneaks into the dorms.

It’s hard to tell right from left anymore— he knows that down is by his feet, at the soft firmness of their thin mattresses, but up is somewhere above him and his head is spinning and loud and he sinks to the ground, wincing at the ba-bam his knees make against the carpeting. The blankets are warm, unusual because they should be cold but the moment his cheek hits the pillow he’s out like a light, and the voices die down to allow space for the voice that only comes out when he sleeps.

When he wiggles a little, he backs against something— warm, firm, breathing— Donghun. He’s warm, almost radiating heat, and for a moment Hyojin worries that it’s a fever but then an arm slings over his waist, curls in his teeshirt, and his eyelids flutter before closing fully.

 

He doesn’t wake up from the cold at all that night— hour. It’s the best sleep he’s gotten in a while, Donghun wrapped around him.

 

It’s forty minutes later when he blinks open his eyes to— he’s not sure, actually, it’s all dark and messy colours but that’s because his face is pressed far too close to it— the thing. The heels of his palms come up to drag the covers over his face as someone (the devil) pulls open the blinds, letting the 8 am sunlight into the room. Yawns echo through the room as they wake up, some willingly, others not, and someone announces “good morning everyone!” loudly and much too cheerfully. The alarm rings and rings.

“Hey, where’s Hyojin-hyung?” Someone is asking, footsteps pounding pound pound p-pound and Hyojin grumbles, lifting the corner of the blanket a bit to let air into his little cave. “Have you checked his bed?” is the sleepy response, and he hears a bit of shuffling—when you’re underneath a pillow, everything sounds like shuffling, but—”He’s not here? Did he even come home last night— this morning?”

Squinting, he pulls the covers off his face— the light is on, the blinds are open, everything seems to have the united goal of assaulting his retinas and it’s a relief when Minhak stands over him. Blindly, he waves at the dancer, and his voice is dry and crackly. “Good morning,” he manages, the words pulling at his lips.

“Hyojin-hyung, why are you—” Minhak asks, sentence punctured with a tilt of the head and a big yawn, “—in Donghun-hyung’s bed?”

And Hyojin narrows his eyes, wondering whatever the heck the dancer was talking about— then, he glances around the room, and _this is not his bed_ because his bed is… not this close to the door. As long as he doesn’t change sides in the short amount of time he gets to sleep, he can touch the side table with his arm. And then he sees _his_ bed, with the plump green pillow and sheets messy from yesterday’s sleep—

Then Minhak turns to Donghun and so does Hyojin and the eldest is rubbing at his eyes with a fisted hand and scrubbing the lenses of his circle glasses with the other. He’s seated on the very edge of the mat. Then he’s reminded by the warmth of an arm over his hip and— oh god, Donghun smiles a little and puts his glasses on and they sit delicate, pretty on the bridge of his nose.

“Morning, Hyojin-ah,” Donghun says, grin evident in his sleep-husky voice, “did you sleep well?”

Oh dear.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @dumplingyin  
> twitter @yinsums


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